Faint
by Fire Of The Stars
Summary: Someday he will tell her. She knows that he will. Someday she won't have to cry anymore. Someday he won't turn away. *complete*
1. In The Dead Of Night

_'I am what I want you to want_

_What I want you to feel_

_But it's like no matter what I do_

_I can't convince you_

_To just believe this is real_

_So I turn away, watching you_

_Turn your back like you always do_

_Face away and pretend that I'm not_

_But I'll be here cause you're all that I've got'_

_-Linkin Park- _

Breathe.

Slow, deep breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. 

  


She lets her vision absorb the red hangings around her four poster bed. Remind herself that four other girls are sleeping on the other side of those crimson curtains. Concentrate on the cool air that is flowing through the open window.

  


It was only a dream. 

He is gone.

She is safe.

  


But she is still trembling. Drinking in the oxygen as though it is water and she has been alone in a desert for months. His voice still ringing in her mind, chilling her to the core.

She knows from experience that she is not going to be able to fall asleep again tonight.

With a final sigh, she tosses the covers away and softly puts her feet to the floor. 

know someone who will be awake.

  


*

  


"Imperius Curse."

  


She mutters the rather unpleasant password to a portrait of a haughty looking young man. He still seems rather suspicious of a disembodied voice, as she is under the Invisibility Charm, but she supposes that he has become accustomed to it. He simply swings back to allow her passage.

  


She tiptoes through the jade and silver common room, up a winding staircase. It still amazes her how similar this common room is to her own. Of course, Gryffindor tower is not located in the dungeons. Nor is it this large or luxuriously furnished. She suspects that the rich decor has a lot to do with the well known fact that most Slytherins are wealthy. She continues down a very long hall, lined with grand oak doors on every side. She stops in front of the last door to the right. It is slightly ajar, as she expected. If she had to knock, it might awaken one of the others. If they found her here, it would be positively scandalous. She slips inside, gently shutting the door behind her. He lies in his large bed, seemingly asleep.

  


"Finite Incantatum," she whispers, and she is visible again. 

  


She smiles to herself and makes her way over, crawling onto the bed beside him. Her hand finds his tousled hair, silver in the darkness. She leans her face down and softly brush her mouth over his. When she begins to pull back, however, he stops her. He captures her lips between his own and kisses her deeply, rolling over so that he is on top of her. 

  


When they break apart, she smiles up at him, and he gives her a smirk in return.

  


"You really are very good at pretending to be asleep, you know. How many times have you done that to me?" she says teasingly.

  


His gray eyes dance with amusement. "I did no such thing. Is it my fault if your damned kisses interrupt my sleep?"

  


"Oh, come on. You know you love it."

  


"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I have to say that a beautiful girl snogging me is not a half bad wake up call. Even if that girl is a Weasley."

  


The smile drops from her face and her beautiful brown eyes regard him coldly. He can't hear the words passing through her thoughts, and before he can even blink, he is thrown forcefully aside. She is up in a heartbeat, standing a good four feet away. 

  


"How the hell did you do that? I didn't see a wand," he demands. She can tell that he is angry, but his voice remains level and his expression impassive.

  


"That's because I don't have my wand with me. I never bring it here," she explains impatiently.

  


"But you arrive under the Invisibility Charm," he says. "And I know that no Gryffindor can do wandless magic. I don't even know of a Ravenclaw that can."

  


She glares at him. "Well, apparently you're wrong. Now, I'm going back to my room. Goodnight, Malfoy."

  


"Leaving so soon, Virginia? But things were just getting good."

  


"Why do you care? I'm just a Weasley," she says sarcastically.

  


"And a damn good kisser," he adds with a smirk.

  


Rolling her eyes, she says, "I'm leaving. Now." 

  


True to her word, she walks to the door.

  


"Virginia?"

  


"Yes?" 

  


"Shall I leave the door open tomorrow night?" His tone is mocking. 

  


She clenches her jaw, then answers in a tight voice. "That remains to be seen." Then she disappears, and the door slams loudly. 

  


Alone in his bedroom, he stretches his arms behind his head and chuckles to himself. She will be back. She always is. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Just Like Me

  


Ginny tries to avoid his gaze in the corridor the next day. She looks at the ceiling. At the floor. At the familiar faces passing her by. Anywhere but at him. Yet she can feel the warmth flooding her cheeks, and knows that they are burning scarlet. She hides behind her long, ruby red hair. The way that his silver eyes follow her is causing an uncomfortable stirring in the pit of her stomach. Her heart gives an inexplicable leap as he comes to halt directly in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest. _His very well toned chest . . . Wait, no . . . What am I thinking? Bad Ginny. BAD._

  


" Well, if it isn't the littlest Weasel," he says with a smirk. 

  


Her face is positively _blazing_ now. "Malfoy," she responds shortly.

  


She steps to the right. He moves to block her. She steps to the left. He blocks her once more. She gives a frustrated sigh.

  


"What do you want, Malfoy?"

  


"In a hurry, Virginia?"

  


"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to get to." Her tone is mocking and she can tell from the glint in his eyes that he is both annoyed and impressed. The rest of his features are like ice. 

  


But before she can walk away, he leans in so close to her that she can feel his breath on her face. 

  


"Pretend all you like. We both know that you need me," he whispers into her hair. It sends chills down her spine. Before she can regain my senses, he pulls back. She instantly aches to be close to him again. And she hates it. 

  


"See you tonight, Weasel," he says softly as he walks away. 

  


She hugs her books to her chest, biting her lip as if the action can stop the tears that are stinging the corners of her eyes. _I have no reason to cry. He is wrong. I do not need him. His opinions do not matter._

  


Before she knows it, she is stumbling into the Potions classroom, drawing several stares. Snape berates her for tardiness as she slumps down into her seat. Though she is a very good student– she is even taking seventh year classes-- he still despises her. She is a Gryffindor, after all. And she finds herself thinking, _That is what it all boils down to. The sorting hat determined my destiny. _For some reason, this thought brings fresh tears to her eyes. She is vaguely aware that Colin is patting her back awkwardly in an attempt to console her, that Snape is rattling on about different types of healing potions. But the one clear thing in her mind is a pair of cool, gray eyes.

  


*

  


The face of her nightmares lingers in her mind, horrible promises in those deep, dark eyes. Deception in that warm smile. The slim moon beams playing over the walls are comforting. Light, however dim, is always welcome when she wakes. Her sleep is filled with darkness. It echoes with her unheard screams and is wet with the blood on her hands. She goes through her normal motions, taking in several deep breaths. 

  


_I will not go to him. I will not go to him. I will not go to him._

  


She forces herself to play this single thought like a broken record. Her limbs are acting against her, her legs itching to make the long trek into the dim dungeons. It is instinctual. Her body and mind are feuding, battling for control over her actions. In the end, her body wins. She pads over to the large vanity that she shares with her room mates, frowning at her reflection. She brushes a hand through her tangled hair, blood red in the moonlight. Straightens her thin white gown. Then, without allowing herself to examine her decision any further, she steps out. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, and sees a familiar figure asleep in the common room. 

  


Harry Potter is curled into the fetal position, resting on the crimson carpet. She knows that Harry sleeps down here when he is having visions, as to avoid disturbing the other boys in his year. He has become quite distant lately, even to his two best friends. She feels a pang deep inside of her at seeing his face distorted in pain, and unconsciously steps forward. His scar is burning brightly, as if made of fire. Without knowing why, she strides over and kneels down beside his sleeping form. Her long fingers brush over his scar. It is hot to the touch, and she jerks her hand back. But when she glances back down at him, she feels something tug at her heart. His brilliant eyes are clenched shut beneath his crooked glasses. He is biting his bottom lip fiercely, and a drop of blood has appeared. His skin is almost gray, drenched with cold sweat.

Quickly, all thoughts of Draco and his warm, solid body flee from her mind. In front of her lies a broken soul, haunted by things that could not be stopped. She can only imagines what he must be seeing. She had overheard once -- back when she followed him around like a lovesick puppy-- that when a Dementor appeared, he heard his mother's final words. Her screams. At the time, she had yearned to tell him that she knew what he was going through. She had heard Tom's voice, seen herself doing his bidding. But, of course, he had never asked her or showed any interest in knowing. And after three years of crying and wishing for his attention, she had given up. Even resented him. But now, with him laying helplessly before her, she aches for him. Because she does know what it is like. So she waits. She sits beside him, stroking his soft black hair. Her legs fall asleep, her eyelids feel heavy. But she waits. Until his breathing becomes steady, he stops thrashing around. As she rises to her feet, his eyes flutter open. He gazes up at her, confusion in his sleepy green eyes. She simply smiles at him-- a small, comforting smile-- before turning away. 

  



	3. Needed

  


"Where were you last night?" he demands angrily.

  


She glares back at him through her thick red hair, her brown eyes flashing. "It isn't any of your business."

  


He grips her shoulders and shoves her back. Her head strikes the wall with a satisfying crack. "No one keeps me waiting, Weasley. Now, tell me where you were."

  


She winces and closes her eyes against the pain. "I was with Harry," she hisses through clenched teeth.

  


He laughs then, an empty, mirthless sound that reminds her far too much of Tom. "Planning on starting the Harry Potter fan club again, Weasley?"

  


She opens her eyes to glare at him once again. "And why would you care, Malfoy? After all, I am just a Weasley."

  


He glances quickly around the corridor, making sure no one is around, then turns his harsh gaze upon her again. 

  


"You are mine," he says. He speaks slowly, carefully enunciating each word. "Mine," he repeats, tightening his grip on her shoulders. His nails are biting into her flesh. 

  


"No. I belong to no one."

  


His eyes flash dangerously. "You belong to me." 

  


His lips come crashing down upon hers. Hard enough to bruise. He bites her lip, thrusts his tongue into her mouth when she gasps from pain. She loves his kisses in the night, when he is gentle and passionate all at once. But she does not like this. It is suffocating and violent and so much like Tom. She screams, but no sound comes out. She pounds on his chest, but this only seems to encourage him more. He will have his way, he will prove that she is his.

  


When he is finished, he pulls away. Her blood is staining his perfect lips. His face is slightly flushed, his breath short. He smirks at her, at the hot tears flowing down her burning cheeks.

  


"You are mine. I own you. And I can do what I please with you."

  


She gives him a look that could cut through steel. She wants to scream at him. Tell him that he does not own her. But did he not just prove it to be so? He has the power. Just as Tom did. 

So much like Tom.

  


"You will come to me tonight," he commands. 

  


She nods weakly. She knows that she would have gone anyway. No matter what he does, she will always go to him. 

  


*

  


She slides into the bed beside him, and his arms are around her waist. He buries his face in her shoulder, his lips trailing butterfly kisses over her neck. 

  


"I knew you would come," he murmurs against her skin.

  


She says nothing, tilting her head back and weaving her hands in his fine, slightly damp, platinum blond hair. His lips work their way down to the hollow of her throat and back up again. They brush over her jawbone. To the corner of her mouth, and finally rest upon her waiting lips. The kiss is tender and slow, nothing like the angry passion he exhibited that afternoon.

  


He pulls away and gazes down at her. His gray eyes are softer, somehow. This startles her. 

  


"You need me. That is why you come."

  


Without knowing why, she nods. She feels the sharp sting that warns of coming tears, and brings his mouth down upon hers again. He kisses her deeply. She sobs into his mouth. He seems to take this as encouragement, pressing his lips even harder against hers. His hands fist in her already tangled hair. 

  


She kisses him back with equal passion. But all the while tears stream down her cheeks. 

  
  



	4. Mind Over Matter

  


Chapter 4: Mind Over Matter

  


She stumbles blindly back to her own room. Her legs are shaky and the strange fluttering in her stomach has not stopped. 

  


_"You need me. That is why you come."_

  


No. She doesn't need him. It is not about need, or love. It is about passion, about letting go. Slipping away from their lives. Him from his demanding father and the dismal future that awaits him. Her from the horrible memories of what she used to be, and what she fears becoming once again. 

  


Yet she cannot help but think of how she aches for his familiar touch. Even now, only moments after leaving his strong arms, she feels less complete. Like she left part of herself with him. This is crazy. Of course she doesn't have feelings for him. He is a horrible, selfish human being. 

  


So much like Tom. 

But she had loved Tom. Loved him so much that she would have given him her life. And she almost did. 

  


She shakes her head. Why is she even thinking about this? She does not love Draco Malfoy. She doesn't, can't, and won't. 

  


*

  


"Ginny."

  


Her name is spoken like a sigh of relief. She raises her eyes and finds herself looking into the deep green eyes of Harry Potter.

  


"Ginny, can I talk to you?"

  


A cold feeling rises from the pit of her stomach. What could he possibly want to talk to her about? Unless . . . She recalls the bemused expression on his face when he woke to see her kneeling beside him. She doesn't want to think of how it must have looked. _Don't jump to conclusions._

  


"Sure," she replies, struggling to keep her voice neutral. He gestures for her to follow him and she rises to her feet. He leads her out of the common room, through the portrait hole and into a darkened section of the corridor. He rakes a hand nervously through his jet black hair and she crosses her arms over her chest, regarding him carefully.

  


After a few moments of tense silence, Ginny says, "I thought you wanted to talk."

  


"I did," Harry says quickly. "I do. I just–" He breaks off with a frustrated sigh. "Ginny, the other night . . ."

  


She feels her muscles tense up. Some small part of her had held some hope that he had forgotten about it. This conversation will ultimately lead to questions, and she isn't sure if she can answer them. 

  


"What about it?" she urges, fighting down the wave of panic welling within her. 

  


His eyes widen behind his spectacles, shining like two emeralds in the dim light. "So it was really you? I didn't just dream it?"

  


Relief floods through her. _He doesn't know anything. You were panicking over nothing. _She almost blushes as his words begin to sink in. _Dreamed it, hmm? Now, why would he be having dreams about me?_

  


"No, it was me," she says calmly. 

  


Silence follows. After a moment, she turns back toward the common room. He surprises her by catching her arm. Her skin tingles where his hand lays. 

  


"Ginny," he begins softly.

  


For some reason, it sends a chill down her spine. Without looking back at him, she responds. "Yes?" Her voice is, like his, barely a whisper. 

  


"Thank you. No one has ever done anything like that for me." His words cause a pang of sympathy deep within her chest. "It was . . ." He trails off, and she feels his gaze drop. "Thank you," he repeats. 

  


She is very aware of the harsh pounding of her heart against her ribs and how it is suddenly very difficult to breathe. It is a feeling so like the one she gets from Draco. And yet . . . so different. 

  


Somehow she manages to mutter, "You're welcome." 

  


He lets go of her wrist, but the feeling of warmth lingers on her skin. Without another word being spoken, she returns to the common room feeling very confused indeed. 

  


*

  


"You're late," he states coldly, running a finger down her exposed arm. 

  


She looks at the dark carpet, finding herself unable to look into the piercing depths of his eyes. She feels as though she has betrayed him, which is quite ludicrous. They have no real relationship to speak of, no connection deeper than flesh. Yet if he knew of the thoughts she had been accosted by since her talk with Harry, she is sure he would be furious. His behavior yesterday was proof enough of that. 

  


"One of my roommates was still awake," she says, the lie coming easily.

  


In fact, she had been in the Prefects' washroom, attempting to scrub away Harry's touch. Sure that he would be able to sense it. Apparently, she had been wrong, as his fingers are now grazing that very spot and his expression had not changed. 

  


He takes her hand and leads her to the bed. She realizes that this is the first time this has ever happened. He is always in bed when she arrives, his eyes closed as if he is asleep. She lets herself be pulled along, then laid atop the green satin sheets. He snakes one arm around her waist and presses his lips against hers. The kiss is sweet and tender at first. He lets his free hand brush her thigh, setting every nerve in her body on fire. 

  


She is hungry for him, hungry for an escape from the troublesome thoughts plaguing her. Tonight she doesn't want tenderness. She is aching for raw passion. Something to deaden the pain, rather than soothe it. She pulls him closer to her, her hands tugging at the bottom of his shirt. If he is surprised, he doesn't show it. He pulls back, breaking the contact of their lips, and assists her, tossing his shirt to the floor. He smirks at her before leaning in and capturing her lips again, only with more force. Her fingers explore the smooth planes of his toned chest as his hands sweep trails of fire over her skin. The hand on her back moves upward, pushing up the fabric of her worn Chudley Cannons shirt. A small voice in the back of her mind tells her that he was right when he said that she needed him, if for no other reason than to take everything away. Another voice whispers Harry's name. She shoves both of them down, allowing herself to get lost in the simple pleasure of Draco's kisses. 


	5. Stoking The Fire

Chapter 5: Stoking The Fire

  


"Ginny?" 

  


The bewildered voice cuts through the quiet night air like a knife.

  


_Harry. _She feels her heart stop, then drop into her stomach. What is he doing up this late? It has to be at least two in the morning. Relatively early for her to be returning, but still . . .

  


"Yes," she answers him, her voice wavering. She clears her throat and tries again. "It's me."

  


She can see him now, seated in front of the low burning fire. It casts its soft orange glow on him, the shining edges of his black hair like a halo. His back is turned to her, but as she steps near him she can see that his posture is tense and rigid. In a moment, she is beside him. She isn't really sure why, as she was planning to get back to her dormitory as quickly as possible.

  


"Harry?" she whispers gently, surprising even herself. Her fingers, acting of their own will, reach up to touch his hair. It is even messier than normal, standing in shock waves of black around his tight lined face. So different from Draco's perfectly groomed, oh so pale hair. 

  


His eyes jerk upward, meeting hers. So many emotions swirling restlessly in those brilliant green depths. Fear and confusion and guilt and something that makes her heart pound. Such a stark contrast to Draco's cold and guarded gray orbs. She begins to feel slightly dizzy. 

  


"How is it," he asks, "That you always appear right when I need you?"

  


She feels a wave of warmth wash over her, all the way to her bare feet. "I . . ." She begins, and opens her mouth to try again, but he stops her with a kiss.

  


His lips press against hers ever so gently. This is a new thing for her. She is used to harsh kisses, and even when Draco was gentle it was never this . . . affectionate. Yes, that is how it feels. His hands are resting on either side of her face, his left thumb brushing over her cheek.

  


She clasps her hands behind his neck, finding that her first impulse to pull away has completely left her. Her skin is burning as if with fever. Her heart is doing acrobatics. Her knees feel weak, her legs unsteady. She is almost certain that, were she not holding onto him, she would collapse. She vaguely wonders whether her feelings for Harry had ever really left. She knows that someone else makes her feel like this, but as the kiss becomes more insistent, she finds all thoughts of that other person slipping farther and farther back in her mind. 

  


After a few moments, he pulls back and looks at her. His emerald eyes are shining with happiness and desire and what could possibly be love. They bore into her sparkling brown ones, searching for the answer to an unspoken question. As he gazes at her, reality comes slamming into her with the force of a swinging hammer. All the thoughts that she has detached herself from piece themselves together. An icy feelings rises from her stomach, overpowering the pleasure coursing through her like fire in her veins. There is a sharp, stinging sensation behind her eyes. Harry's eyes widen, his smile becoming a frown. He pushes her wild red curls back from her face.

  


"Ginny, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

  


She hadn't realized she was crying. And somehow the knowledge makes her feel even worse. 

  


"Should I not have done that? I'm sorry."

  


She can tell from the miserable tone of his voice that he really is, and it makes her feel sick. "No, Harry. It's not your fault." She pauses and takes his hand in hers. "It wasn't bad of you." No, it certainly wasn't. Which is why this is so hard. 

  


"Oh." He looks down. "What is it then?"

  


"I– I can't tell you." She manages. It isn't a lie, not exactly, but saying it makes her feel as though she has just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro. 

  


_When did all of this become so complicated?_

  


_*_

  


"Have you been crying, Ginny?"

  


Do her eyes really look that bad? She had put a charm on them this morning to lessen the puffiness. Than again, she had cried twice since then. 

  


"No, Colin. Just– an allergy."

  


"Oh. There are charms for that you know. I could teach you some, if you'd like."

  


"No, that's ok," she answers lazily. She can feel the dull pounding that signifies the beginning of a headache. 

  


She lays her head down on the table, enjoying the feel of the cool surface against her skin. She can sense two pairs of eyes upon her. One green, one gray. She cannot bring herself to meet their gazes. She is terrified that Draco will see it in her eyes, know what has happened. She knows Harry wants answers. Answers she herself doesn't know. She is exhausted in every way possible. And she still has to get through the rest of the day. 

  


*

  


He doesn't understand her at all. What happened last night was amazing. For him, at least. And he had thought the same for her as well. It has become quite clear to him lately that she was the only one who understood him. Waking up that night in the common room to find her kneeling beside him, concern shining in her beautiful eyes, her scarlet hair tumbling around her face, he had been reminded so sharply of his mother that it almost took his breath away. He quickly realized that it was not, in fact, Lily Potter, but Ginny Weasley. And that, if possible, was even better. 

  


But now, his mind was whirling with questions. He had the sneaking suspicion that her reaction last night had been, at least partially, due to someone else. But if so, who? 

  


*

  


She has her head down and won't even look at me. She is acting as though she is ill. Perhaps she is simply tired from last night's excursions. Who knows with women. 

  


One thing is for sure though. I can see the way Potter is looking at her. And I don't like it one little bit. 


	6. Whispers In The Night

Chapter 6: Whispers In The Night

  


"Mrs. Weasley!"

  


Professor McGonagall's disapproving voice cuts through Ginny's thoughts. She lifts her head from her folded arms. 

  


"Yes, Professor?" she answers.

  


"You will please refrain from sleeping in my class," the woman says calmly, casting another scrutinizing glance at her.

  


Ginny wants to explain that she wasn't sleeping, merely lost in thought, and that if McGonagall were in her situation she would be, too. But she knows that this would only end in her being assigned a detention, and besides, she is too tired to manage an eloquent response. So she simply nods her head and the Professor returns to the topic of animagi. 

  


She suddenly wishes that Colin were here, if for no other reason than to provide some sort of distraction. But this is the one class that she does not share with him, as he finds the idea of Advanced Transfiguration most intimidating. So Ginny ended up in a class full of older Ravenclaws, all of whom are now giving her cold looks, as though not paying attention were a crime. Then again, to them it probably is. She attempts to focus on the lesson, dipping her quill in the ink pot at the front of her desk and drawing out a piece of blank parchment for notes.

  


*

  


She is walking to Gryffindor tower when she feels someone grab her arm. She tenses at the familiar touch, then , slowly, turns around. 

  


"Hello, Virginia," Draco says, smirking at her. 

  


The classic Malfoy smirk. Sometimes, she finds it sexy. Now she just finds it to be bloody annoying.

  


He lets go of her and she folds her arms over her chest. "Yes, Draco? Is there something you needed?"

  


"Just wanted to say hello."

  


'Well, you've said it. Twice, in fact. So I'll just be on my way."

  


She takes two steps before his voice stops her. 

  


"I'm beginning to think that you're avoiding me, Virginia."

  


Her pulse quickens ever so slightly. "Of course I'm not. I'm just... busy."

  


"Right," he drawls. "What was I thinking?"

  


Relief floods through her. There is a moment of silence.

  


"I really should be getting back to my tower," she says finally.

  


"Of course," is his cool reply. He steps up behind her and places a kiss below her earlobe. "Until tonight," he says, his breath tickling her skin. And then he is gone, his footsteps fading down the corridor. She lets out her breath in a low hiss and continues walking in the opposite direction. 

  


Neither are aware of the figure just a few feet away, taking in the scene with wide green eyes.

  


*

  


He paces the floor of his dormitory, raking his hands through his jet black hair.

  


"Harry, mate, calm down," Ron says from behind him. "You're making me dizzy."

  


He stops and gives Ron an apologetic glance before groaning in frustration.

  


"What's got you so worked up anyhow?"

  


Harry contemplates telling him what he saw. Yes, Ron was his best friend. But this would make him furious. He would confront Ginny, and Harry wasn't even sure what he saw, or what it meant. 

  


"Just... a bad day."

  


Ron looks skeptical. "You sure that's it?"

  


"Yeah. I didn't get much sleep last night."

  


Ron's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh... Alright, then. As long as you're ok."

  


He sinks down onto his four poster bed and sighs. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

  


*

  


She stops outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, who is sleeping soundly, and casts the Invisibility Charm. Then, with a sigh, she begins the long journey across the castle. Tonight, the empty halls seem lonelier than usual. Her footsteps are loud to her ears, making her heart pound just a bit faster. When she finally reaches the entrance to the Slytherin common room, she has the urge to turn around and run back to her tower. Swallowing hard, she mutters the password, barely even aware of what she is saying.

  


The portrait swings back and she steps through, into an emerald paradise. She crosses the room, her arms wrapped around herself. Up the stairs and down the hall, stopping at the all too familiar door, open just a crack. She pushes it gently and enters, whispering, "Finite incantatum" and watching her body become visible again. He is playing the usual game tonight, waiting for her with closed eyes and baited breath. And she plays along, sliding between the satin sheets and brushing her lips across his. Immediately his hands are on her waist and he is kissing her. Hard. Hard enough to leave bruises on her rose petal lips. She is laying under him. His tongue slides over her lips, coaxing them open, then teases her own. His hands are roaming over her body, making her melt.

  


*

  


"I love you," she whispers as they lay next to each other, his back to her. As soon as the words escape her mouth, she wishes she could take them back. He jerks upright, then slowly turns to face her. His eyes are even colder than usual. 

  


"What did you say?" he grinds out.

  


"N-nothing." 

  


"Get the hell out of my room."

  


"NOW!"

  
  
  
  
  



	7. Watch Me

Chapter 7: Watch Me

  


_What possessed me to say that?? I don't love him. I don't even like him. He' s horrible. Cruel, sneaky, arrogant. Everything I hate. So why can't I stop going to him?_

  


She is tearing apart the flower she conjured, scattering bent and torn petals over the stone floor. It reminds her of a Muggle game she heard of. _He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me..._

  


_He loves me not._

  


The last petal falls, bringing her back into reality. Of course Draco doesn't love her. And she doesn't love him. She can't. 

  


"Password, dear?"

  


She gives a start as she realizes that she is in front of the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady is looking at her expectantly. 

  


"Golden Snitch."

  


It swings open and she steps through, sighing loudly and raking a hand through her hair. The common room is empty, no sign of Harry in sight. _Thank gods_. She makes her way to her dormitory, sinking onto her bed. She casts a silencing charm and buries her face in her pillow just seconds before the sobs shake her body. 

  


*

  


Days pass. Draco is avoiding her at every turn. She has not returned to his room since that night. She begins to sneak into the common room, waiting for hours in hopes that Harry will descend the winding staircase. She stays until the fire dies, and then returns to her bed with a wistful sigh. He seems to be avoiding her as well. He won't even look at her. It gives her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why is everything she does wrong?

  


*

  


Finally, nine days after her last visit to him, she wakes up determined to talk to Draco. 

  


She can barely stomach her breakfast. She has made up her mind to corner him on his way to the dungeons. Today is the Hogsmeade trip, so most people will have already left. She sees him leave the hall, and waits exactly thirty seconds before pushing her bowl to the center of the table. She rises slowly to her feet and walks as quickly as she can to the door. 

  


She is almost to the Slytherin common room when she sees a glint of pale white hair. He is standing alone, leaning casually against a wall. As if he is expecting her. Taking a deep breath, she strides forward, suddenly not caring who sees. She stops in front of him, crossing her arms over her chest in what she hopes is a confident stance. 

  


"We need to talk."

  


Surprise flickers through his eyes, but the rest of his face remains impassive. "Do we?"

  


"Yes," she hisses.

  


"You're off your rocker if you think I'm going to talk to you here."

  


She fights the urge to throw her hands into the air. "Fine! We can go somewhere else. But you are _going_ to talk to me."

  


He gives her an appraising look, raises one eyebrow, and says, "Follow me, and don't get lost."

  


She bites back the comebacks springing to her lips and walks after him.

  


He leads her outside, around the castle, and through a tall hedge, revealing a stone courtyard with a fountain in its center. 

  


"What the hell is up with you, Malfoy?" She whirls on him and narrows her eyes. 

  


"I'm not the one making pathetic declarations of love, Weasley. Not that I can blame you. "

  


"You think I meant it?"

  


He shrugs. "You said it, didn't you?"

  


"I plead temporary insanity. I don't love you. I hate you."

  


"Tsk tsk. Hate is such a very strong word."

  


"You hate everyone," she points out.

  


"Not everyone."

  


"Well you sure as hell don't _love _anyone!"

  


"Just because I don't love _you_, doesn't mean I don't love."

  


There is silence for a long moment, finally broken when he says, "You can say whatever you want about me. But in the end, it is always the same. You want me, and I give you something no one else can."

  


She looks down at her feet. "You're wrong." 

  


"Who then?" he asks, his voice rising a fraction. 

  


"Harry," she whispers, so low he can barely hear it.

  


His eyes frost over, his features becoming even colder than they already were. "_Potter?_" he asks, with disbelief in his voice. 

  


She nods.

  


He grabs her shoulders, gripping them tightly. 

  


"So what, you're going to go crawling back to Wonder Boy now?"

  


He shakes her until she looks up at him, tears shining in her eyes and her red hair flying everywhere. She is wincing under the pressure of his fingers. "Let go of me," she says in a low voice.

  


He ignores her. "You little whore. You won't leave me, you're too weak. Pathetic."

  


She closes her eyes and concentrates. In a split second, he is thrown backward, onto the ground. Her arms are throbbing where his hands were. 

  


"You think I won't leave you? Watch me."

  


As she walks away, she hears him cursing under his breath. Once back inside the castle, she collapses beside a staircase, tears streaming down her face. 

  
  



	8. Hear Me Out

Chapter 8: Hear Me Out

  
  


She walks through the portrait hole, angrily swiping at her wet cheeks. She lets out a long, slow breath and pushes her hair away from her face.

  


"Ginny?"

  


The voice sends relief and anxiety flooding through her. She opens her eyes to see Harry standing in front of her, his black hair standing on end and his eyes wide with concern. He steps forward and places his hands on her shoulders. 

  


"Are you ok?"

  


She tries to speak, but chokes on a sob and settles for shaking her head. He leads her to the chair in front of the fire and she sinks down into it, burying her head in her hands. He lets her cry, his hand resting lightly on her arm. 

  


"Gin, what happened?" he asks softly, as she wipes her eyes. 

  


She gives a sniffle and chooses to ignore the question. "Why aren't you at Hogsmeade?"

  


"I wanted to talk to you," he says impatiently. "What happened?"

  


She looks into his eyes, so full of caring and worry, and her heart turns over. "I can't," she chokes out.

  


He tenses. "It's about Malfoy, isn't it?"

  


"How...?"

  


"I saw you in the corridor together." 

  


"Oh... god.... Harry...."

  


He stands up suddenly, making the twisting feeling in her stomach ten times worse. Before she can say a word, however, he is striding toward the portrait hole with a grim expression on his face.

  


"Harry, where are you going?" 

  


But he is already out the door.

  


*

  


"Malfoy!"

  


The blond boy turns around, smirking when he sees Harry. 

  


"What do you want, Potter?"

  
  


Harry advances on him, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I have waited so long for a reason to do this."

  


Draco barely even has time to blink before Harry's fist slams into him.

  


*

  


Ginny sits on her bed, her fingers tracing designs over the blanket. She has cast a spell around her to play music only she can hear. It is a Muggle group, with rather angry lyrics. 

  


_I am a little bit insecure, a little unconfident_

_Cause you don't understand, I do what I can, but sometimes it don't make sense_

_I am what you never want to say, but I never had a doubt_

_It's like no matter what I do, I can't convince you for once just to hear me out_

  


She gives a start when she hears her brother's voice from the common room, and waves her hand to cut off the music. 

  


"Harry, what happened to you?"

  


_Oh gods..._

  


She springs to her feet and races down the stairs. In the corner of the common room, with Ron and Hermione on either side, is Harry. She pauses on the bottom step, her heart catching in her throat. Even from here, he looks bad. His nose is bloody and one of his eyes is swollen, turning purple. His lip is busted and his glasses are splintered. At that exact moment, he looks up and his gaze meets hers. Ignoring the confusion of his friends, he makes his way over to her. Ron follows suit, and Hermione trails behind. 

  


"Guys, I need to talk to Ginny," he says, never taking his eyes off her. Ron glances back and forth between them but Hermione grabs his arm and tows him away, shoving an open book under his nose. 

  


"What is it Harry?"

  


"Do you love him?"

  


"What?" At a glance from him, she shakes her head. "No... I mean, NO."

  


"Then why?"

  


She sighs. "I don't know. . . He made things easier, if only for a while."

  


"Easier? How the hell did Draco Malfoy make things easier?"

  
  


She looks down at her feet, all too aware of his eyes on her. "I have . . . nightmares. Always have, but they got worse after the Triwizard Tournament. I don't know how things started with him, but they did. I went to his room when I woke up, and he made me forget. I wasn't me when I was with him. I was someone else. And that was better."

  


"So what happened?"

  


"I'm not sure . . . I guess I started to need more than that . . . He doesn't love me. He can't love me. I was a toy to him. A trophy. And then you came along . . . I got so confused."

  


"I'm sorry."

  


"No... don't be . . . I left him this morning. He didn't think I would. He said no one else can give me what he can. But he's wrong."

  


Harry's eyes widen as he takes in her words. "He is?"

  


She nods and steps closer to him. He leans his face toward hers. 

  


"I love you, Ginny."

  


And then his lips are on hers, and it is everything she felt the first time and more. This time, there is no confusion. This is where she belongs, and this is who she belongs with. His hands are wiping away the last of her tears, his lips are warming her heart, and his love is cleansing her soul. She knows that when she awakens that evening, ghosts' whispers still in her ears, he will be there to hold her. No more games, no more guessing. Only love. 

  


_*~*fin*~*_


End file.
